


One More Miracle

by toolate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mary Morstan Bashing, POV John Watson, PTSD John, johnlock au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 04:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10609479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toolate/pseuds/toolate
Summary: Being forced to enter a loveless marriage with noblewoman Mary Morstan, John Watson only knows a few things he finds joy in. While one of these represents his sick little sister, another one is Harriet's adventurous, mysterious and rude teacher he finds himself surprisingly drawn to, much to his wife's dislike.





	

The visible shadows underneath his green-ish eyes were darker than usual. Deep signs of the past months, a clear and obvious indication of his mind's defeated state, his body's exhausted outcry, and his final genuflection. He could laugh at himself – his knees even felt slightly grazed and wounded. Or was it his shoulders, carrying the weight of his late parents's tiring responsibilities and difficult duties?

John Watson sighed, his gaze lazily and sadly drifting over to the top of his rather-round head. A few, silver strands inbetween blond, straight hair. As a child, he constantly attempted to make it appear wilder and untidy – and his mother, Mrs Elizabeth Watson, would shake her own blond hair, and laugh loudly. ''Stop it, John, my boy. You do not have to prove to me that you are different from your classmates. I already know how unpredictable you are!''

Soon, furthermore taking into account his mother's death, there would be a completely new and different Mrs Watson. They somehow looked alike, his mother and his fiancée. Both, they wore their blond hair in soft locks that gave the women a certain image of warmth and beauty. His mother's eyes had been light brown, whereas his fiancée's reminded him of stones at the sea, grey and cold and steady; his mother had been used to smile during the whole day, no matter what, something his fiancée also did. Still, her smile wasn't as warm or reassuring. It didn't give him any strength or hope – instead, she would show him either her seductive, lascivious smirk or that impatient, cruel grin hiding her true intentions. It was true, she desired him, which had been a fortunate precondition the minute he chose to propose to Mary Morstan.

The heavy door behind him was opened, and John looked up, meeting the eyes of his friend and colleague, Michael Stamford. His glasses were slightly crooked, just like his friendly smile. ''John! It's time, Mary will soon be there,'' he announced, his left hand resting on his plump chest, the other one brushing away a bit of sweat on his high forehead.

John needed shortly, before throwing a last glance at the mirror in front of him. His reflection showed the image of a well-dressed, rather short but athletic figure. Without having noticed it, both of his hands were clenched into a fist, and as he relaxed his muscles, he watched the pink imprints on his palm with great interest. Mike called out his name again, and he tried his best to contain the strong cascade of emotions that burst through his wounded soul.

It was like a trance, somebody else's dream, as he was led through expensive-looking corridors and floors, slowly but surely coming closer to the center of today's attention. The room was already filled with people he recognized and knew – colleagues, neighbours, friends, and Mary's family. He felt Mike's hand pulling him to the very front, where he stood next to the old man that had to be the pastor Mary's father had hired, facing the smiling and laughing guests of his own wedding.

From then on, it all happened quite fast.

Mary and Frederick, her father and his deceased father's best friend, entered the great hall. Everyone's head turned, glowing eyes took in the beauty of Mary Morstan as she slowly paced towards him, with the grace and elegance of an angel. All John was able to see was striking white.

John was given his future wife's hands, and he held onto them, mainly because he didn't know what else to do with them. Frederick nodded into his direction, smiled into his only daughter's, and stepped back, leaving the couple to themselves.

The pastor was speaking now, people were laughing at small jokes, family was crying at the prospect of a new union of supposed lovers. Now and then he felt Mary's sharp nails digging into the flesh of his right wrist, forcing him to take his empty eyes off of the young, grinning face of his 10-year-old sister Harriet. She looked beautiful in her new, red-flower dress that Mary's mother had gifted her with. Her light brown hair, the same tone as their father's, was tied up, something he knew she loathed with all of her impudent and fierce soul.

John heard his mother's dying voice, whispering tiny, broken words into his trembling ears. ''John, my dear boy... Promise me... Promise me you will take care of your sister. She's got no one... no one but you... She needs you. Promise me, John... Promise me.'' And as he still held onto Harry's wide grin but pale face and his late mother's final words, he muttered what everyone had been waiting for him to say.

''Yes, I do.''

-

''Johnny, darling. Perhaps it is about time to take a different place of work into consideration? Clearly, that old fool Sawyer isn't paying you enough. Certainly, my father mainly takes care of us, but Harriet also needs a new teacher. And what about the dresses I ordered at Rosa's Tailoring? If you want your wife to look stunning at all these feasts, parties and dance balls, you will have to work harder. Oh, and don't get me started on the jewellery that Regina told me about...''

John looked up, slowly closing the book he had been reading and putting it on the small shelf next to him. ''What do you mean, Harry needs a new teacher? What is wrong with Mr Decody? He's absolutely doing a fine job.''

Mary raised her delicate eyebrows, meeting her husband's eyes. ''Mr Decody? Oh, I already dismissed him. He was getting rather old, don't you think? No... Harriet shall not be brainwashed by all these old, traditional ideas and ideals. We need someone fresh and young, someone to bring a little bit of life into this house. I invited three young men to our mansion. One of them is gifted with languages, the other one with science, and the third one... well, he seems to be quite talented in many areas.''

He sighed silently, his hand wandering through his grey-blonde hair – one of his old, persistent habits. ''When will these gentlemen arrive?'' he asked calmly, now after two years of being Mary's husband, rather used to her spontaneous acts; acts that she did not care to talk through with her husband. Before he could even open his green eyes, he heard the doorbell ring twice. Immediately, their maid Molly rushed past them with a smile, eager to open the door to serve well and see new faces.

Muffled sounds told him his wife was standing up, getting ready to greet her natural male guests.

Loud, high voices of men; Mary's fake laughter; Molly's constant offer at helping the potential teacher out of their coats.

He was tired of it.

He was tired of pretending not to be aware of his wild wife's regular visits from unnamed, unkown men; he was tired of being the Master of their supposed family's staff; he was tired of telling his father-in-law of the happiness and love he and his daughter shared; he was tired of being told to get a new job when he was in love with being a doctor; and, he was tired of spending nights over nights with vivid images of bombs, guns, blood, and death. He was a former soldier, and a former army doctor, and yet he felt like he had always been sitting in this expensive salon of the Watson Mansion, reading books and newspapers, playing with his little sister when she had enough strength for it, fighting with his wife over the simplest things.

A few weeks ago, Harry had told him that he looked bored and empty. ''What's wrong, John? Do you miss your adventures?''

Did he? Did he miss the war? And everything that came with it; chaos, noise, terror?

''Johnny, dear! Come on and greet these three wonderful gentlemen!''

But before he could even take one step into the entrance hall, a tall shadow caused him to cease in his slow movements; it was a dark-haired man with curls and pale skin, grey-blue eyes and high cheekbones. His black brows were furrowed while he looked around the salon, apparently searching for something specific or out of the ordinary. His face was not the usual kind John witnessed day out, day in; it was young, yet obviously marked by countless ineffable sights and events. The first terms that crossed John's mind were that this man was a passionate thinker and observer, in an utterly distinctive, strange way.

Eventually, the man's light eyes met John's own, and he stopped. ''Evening,'' he said with a deep voice. ''I am the girl's new teacher. When do I start?''


End file.
